Story 12-Chapter I
STORY TWELVE – The Story of the Defence of Kars
However averse we may be to war, we must acknowledge that it is often a stern and cruel necessity: that it is calculated to draw out many of the nobler qualities which exist in the human heart and mind, and that it shows more than most other callings a man in his true colours. There were many gallant deeds performed during the late war with Russia; but, taking all things into consideration, none surpass the defence of Kars, or more completely prove what can be done by courage, energy and perseverance, devotedness and unanimity, when directed by wisdom and science. All these qualities were displayed in a remarkable degree by the British officers who undertook the defence of Kars against the well-disciplined troops of Russia, with materials which ordinary men would have considered utterly useless. I feel particular pleasure in writing a short account of that heroic undertaking, from having soon afterwards met some of the British officers engaged in it in Russia itself. There, no longer enemies, but as honoured visitors, they were received by the Russians with that respect which their gallantry had won. They were visiting, as I was, the gallery in Saint Petersburg of that talented artist and persevering Siberian traveller, the late Mr Atkinson. While exhibiting his magnificent pictures, Mr Atkinson gave us a deeply interesting account of his own adventures when he was engaged in making the sketches from which he had painted them, and altogether I look back to that morning as one of the most agreeable spent during a short visit I made, soon after the war, to Russia.
But to our story about Kars. While the British, French, and Sardinian troops were before Sebastopol, the Russians hoped, by sending a powerful army by way of the Caucasus, to attack the Turkish dominions in Asia on the east, and to compel the Allies to despatch some of their forces to the assistance of the Sultan. The English Government had foreseen that the Russians would do this, and had accordingly sent out General Williams, then holding the rank of Colonel, and other officers, to put the frontier Turkish fortresses in a state of defence. On the confines of the Turkish dominions in Armenia, and to the south-east of the Black Sea, stands the town of Kars. It is situated under a precipitous and rocky range of hills, running east and west, and in most parts impassable for artillery. This range of hills is bisected by a deep gorge, through which flows the river Karschai, over which are thrown four or five bridges. On the south side of Kars a fine level plain stretches away for many miles till it meets a range of easy-sloping heights. Kars has a picturesque old feudal-looking castle, built on the summit of a craggy rock, rising out of the gully, with the brawling river at its base, and commanding the whole of the city. The streets of the town are narrow and dirty, and there are very few even tolerably good houses, while the appearance of the population is sordid in the extreme. Besides the castle, there were no fortifications of any consideration. This was the place which, early in 1855, General Williams, Colonel Lake, Major Teesdale, Captain Thompson, and other English officers were sent to defend, with a disorganised Turkish force under them, against a well-equipped Russian army, commanded by General Mouravieff. General Williams had received the rank of Ferik or Lieutenant-General in the Turkish army, with the title of Williams Pasha. He and the gallant men with him had numberless difficulties to contend with. The Turkish officers were generally utterly worthless – the neighbouring tribes of Kurdistan broke into revolt – the troops were ill clothed, and ill fed, and unpaid, and the whole morale of the army was at the lowest state, while the town itself was to be placed in a defensible condition, to withstand the assaults of the powerful army advancing towards it. The soldiers were upwards of two years in arrears of pay – their shoes were worn out, their uniforms were in tatters, and a large number were suffering from scurvy, caused by unwholesome food and their long confinement in the ill-ventilated huts of Kars. General Williams and his companions were first engaged in fortifying the town of Erzeroum, which will be found on the map some distance to the west or rear of Kars, and from thence they proceeded to the defence of the latter place itself. The Russians were at that time assembling an army at Gumri, and were evidently meditating a speedy attack on Kars. As no time was to be lost in preparing for it, the English officers set manfully to work to overcome all obstacles, and to put the place in a proper state of defence. All vied with each other in zeal. In all weathers, at all times of the day and night, in the saddle or on foot, they were to be found labouring with head and hand, sometimes in the trenches with spade or mattock, sometimes drilling troops, receiving chiefs, settling disputes, encouraging the wavering, and organising various departments of the service. Here is a description of General Williams when the enemy had arrived before the town: – “We are all in the saddle at half-past three a.m., and ride round the works; the troops are certainly full of enthusiasm, and Williams Pasha or Ingleez Pasha is already a great favourite. They see him everywhere; he is with the sentries at the menaced point ere the morning has dawned, anon he is tasting the soldiers’ soup, or examining the bread, and, if anything is wrong here, his wrath is terrible. His eyes are everywhere, and he himself is ubiquitous. Each soldier feels that he is something more than a neglected part of a rusty machine: he knows that he is cared for, and he is encouraged, and confident of being well led.” To Colonel Lake, however, belongs the credit of having formed the chief fortifications round Kars, as he was there while General Williams was still at Erzeroum. They were of considerable extent. The chief battery was on the summit of a semicircular range of hills, to the west and north-west, and at the distance of two miles or more from the town. This was Major Teesdale’s position, and here General Kmety had his camp. To the north again was a line of fortifications known as the English Redoubts, where Colonel Lake commanded. The river flowed between the town and the above-mentioned batteries. To the east, at a distance of a mile from the town, was Captain Thompson’s position – the Karsdagh Battery, and from thence a line of batteries circled round to the south, till they joined the river on the west. Thompson’s and Lake’s positions were connected by a bridge thrown across the river by the latter. The strongest position was a closed work, constructed by Colonel Lake, on a height overlooking the city to the west, and known as Veli Pasha Tabia, or Fort Lake. It was armed with four heavy and several lighter guns, and was the key of the whole northern position. Day and night, officers and men were employed in strengthening this extensive line of fortifications, the whole northern part being on a succession of rugged heights, commanding the surrounding country. No one worked harder or was more enthusiastic than the gallant Teesdale, and there also was the brave Thompson with Dr Sandwith, the chief of the medical staff, who gives a most graphic account of the first attack of the Russians. It was the 16th of June, the Feast of the Bairam, when the Turks generally deliver themselves up to idleness and rejoicing, and all duty is neglected. But the vicinity of danger kept the garrison of Kars on the alert, and early in the morning news was brought that the enemy were advancing on the town. The alarm was quickly raised, and all the citizens rushed to the batteries. Every one was in gayest apparel – the gallant Karslis slung on their scimitars, buckled on their cartridge-pouches, and shouldered their rifles, and in groups by the dozen, with hearts beating high and glistening eyes, scaled the rocky heights above the city. Here is a picture: – “The women crowd the house-tops, and cry to each passing warrior, ‘God sharpen your swords! Remember us – we are praying for you – go, fight the infidels – God speed you!’ In a short time each man is at his post, where, by those looking down from the batteries, were to be seen the dark masses of the enemy steadily advancing over the broad plain of rich meadow land, covered with brilliant yellow flowers. As they advance, a beautiful living panorama is before the spectators – the enemy throw out their Cossacks and Georgian skirmishers of irregular cavalry; these are met by the Bashi-Bazouks, and a series of tournaments occur in the enamelled grassy space intervening between the stern masses of advancing troops and the breastworks of Kars. Two or three regiments of cavalry now advance from the Russian lines, and, after a trot of a mile or two, charge the retreating squadrons of Turkish cavalry. The rout of the latter is complete, but the Bashi-Bazouks, under a gallant native chief from Damascus, Ali Bey, fight well while retreating. Suddenly puffs of dense white smoke issue from the Karsdagh and Hafiz Pasha batteries, and the screaming balls are seen to plough through the dense Russian masses. The enemy’s artillery is now brought up, but their balls glance harmlessly from the dense earthworks. The horsemen from both sides are mingled, and rush for the entrance; but the Cossacks fall under the deadly fire of the batteries, while those on whom our guns cannot play are singled out by the Turkish riflemen, who line the rocky sides of Karsdagh. The attempt to rush into the works has failed; after less than an hour’s cannonading the enemy retires, while this repulse raises the spirits of the garrison to the height of enthusiasm. The Turkish loss has been trifling, perhaps twenty, while that of the enemy must have been considerably more.” So the fighting went on: sometimes the enemy approached the entrenchments and retired without making an attack – at other times they attempted to storm the place, but were were driven back with slaughter. The British officers did not cease to strengthen their position; but they had soon to contend with a more terrible enemy than the Russians within their own entrenchments.
All their supplies had been cut off – their provisions fell short, and fierce famine made its appearance. Discontent among the troops – the irregulars chiefly – naturally followed; the town was closely beset by Cossack horsemen on every side. Still the war was carried on in a civilised manner, and, from the first, the Russian General Mouravieff showed himself a truly chivalric and humane man. It was felt that, should Erzeroum be taken, a vast number of siege-guns would be brought against Kars, and its doom be sealed.
Another attack was made by the Russians on the 7th of August, but they were driven back with considerable slaughter. But it is with the English officers we have to do: – “No sign of despondency clouded the honest face of General Williams. His ‘Good morning’ salutation was as cheerful as on the morrow of the first little victory. He was thin – he could not well be thinner: no wonder, for he never seemed to sleep. Long ere daylight he was with the sentries of Major Teesdale’s battery, the point nearest the Russians, and his glass learned every movement; anon he was encouraging the Bashi-Bazouks and settling their differences, or arranging some plan for feeding the townspeople; and in his confidential conversation with his officers on the state of affairs, he would impress on them the duty of maintaining a bright and hopeful bearing, since all the garrison looked up to them for encouragement, Thompson lived altogether on the Karsdagh, and his glass ranged the horizon from early morning until night; nor did he then go to a quiet couch; for, though he turned in, yet, after an hour’s light slumber, he would visit each sentry round the whole works, and no part of the position was as well guarded as that where this Argus had taken up his quarters. Teesdale lived with the gallant Hungarian, Kmety, and acted as chief of his staff. Besides his graver duties, he was constantly harassing the Cossacks with parties of riflemen, or menacing and attacking the Russian cavalry with a company of rifles and a couple of guns.” Thus day after day skirmishing went on, but provisions became more and more scarce; scurvy, the cholera, and fever broke out; numbers died, but the courage of the brave leaders never flagged. There was no longer provender for the horses, and some of the cavalry, with a fearful loss, cut their way through the enemy and escaped.
But the day of battle was not longer to be delayed – that day which was to win the renown a soldier covets for the gallant strangers who led the Turkish forces. On the 29th of September, before daybreak, one of the advanced sentries of the chief battery, nearest to the enemy, heard a sound in the distance, something like the rumbling of wheels and the tramp of infantry. Kmety was soon on the spot. He applied his ear to the ground, and recognised the rumble of artillery-wheels; while still the measured tread of infantry was heard advancing nearer and nearer up the valley. The night was moonless, and very dark. Again all was silent. The Zebek riflemen look well to their percussion caps; the word is passed to the artillery-men, “peshref” (grape); the advanced posts creep into the lines with the ominous words “Ghiaour gueliur” (The infidels are coming). A dark mass, faintly seen through the gloom, is observed. It is moving; it is a column of men! A gun is pointed in the direction, the match is applied, and a hissing shower of grape flies into the mass. An unearthly scream of agony from mangled human frames follows the thunder of the gun, when both are drowned by a loud hurrah which rises on all sides, and soon the whole line of breastworks is assailed in front and flank. All surprise is at an end. The Russians advance in close column on the breastworks and redoubts, while some Russian batteries, well placed on a commanding eminence opposite, pour shot, shell, and grape into the redoubts. Steadily each column advances, while grape, round-shot, and musketry are pelted into them. They still rush on; their officers, with wondrous self-devotion, charge in front, and, single-handed, leap into the redoubts only to fall pierced with bayonets. Their columns, rent and torn, retire to reform. Meantime, on the left flank and rear of the position, the breastworks are carried; a number of tents are occupied by Russian troops, while their officers, ignorant that the redoubts are closed, flatter themselves that the position is won. Kmety now, however, hastily gathers together a formidable body of his best troops; Teesdale turns some guns towards the rear and works them vigorously; Kmety’s riflemen pour into these partially victorious Russians a continued and well-directed fire, which holds them in check, and woefully thins their ranks. Meantime, the son has risen, and shows each position of the enemy. A sulphurous cloud envelops the scenes of fiercest conflict, while reserves in formidable numbers crown the distant slopes. Fresh columns of the enemy charge again and again the front line of breastworks and batteries, from which they are at first driven back: they are received with a deadly and withering fire; and thus the fight continues. But this is not the only struggle going on. The line of breastworks and forts protecting the heights on the north of the town are attacked simultaneously by overpowering numbers, and being defended only by a weak force, mainly of Laz irregulars, are carried and occupied by Russian troops, who pile arms and wait for further orders; while the Russian artillery-men employ their time in busily shelling the town, which they now command. Meantime, General Williams from the centre of the camp is watching events. He despatches a body under Kherim Pasha, which appears suddenly on the flank of a large body of Russians now gaining ground in the rear of the Turks on the chief battery. A loud yell arises of triumph and vengeance. Baba Kherim waves his sword; his troops pour a volley into the enemy; Kmety and his men, hitherto overpowered, raise a responsive cheer: they rush on, crying, “Sungu! sungu!” (The bayonet! the bayonet!) Teesdale pours fresh grape into the staggering masses; the Russians waver – they give way – the havoc slacks not. The Turkish artillery hurl round-shots into these columns of brave and devoted men. Captain Thompson, on the extreme east, is with might and main working a heavy gun, and keeping the enemy in check. Once, and once only, there is a slight sign of giving way, but General Williams despatching reinforcements, changes the backward into a forward movement. The loud hurrahs of the Russian hosts are mingled with the yells of the Turks, who tight like tigers, charging repeatedly with the bayonet. White-turbaned citizens are seen plunging into the fight, hewing with their scimitars; athletic and savage Lazistan mountaineers fight with the clubbed rifle, or hurl stones at the advancing foe, while the latter, ever obedient to a stern discipline, advance again and again to the deadly batteries, and are blown from the very mouths of the guns. Strong proof is there of the excellence of Colonel Lake’s batteries. For seven and a half hours the furious contest rages; when about mid-day the Russian columns are seen running down the hill, their cavalry and artillery steadily protecting their retreat. A confused mass of citizens follows them with the utmost temerity, firing into their retreating ranks. But where was the Turkish cavalry? Two thousand horsemen would have destroyed the Russian army, but none remain. The enemy reform, and march off unmolested.
The victory was complete, and the brave garrison looked forward with hope to relief, but relief did not come – cholera did, and famine. The provisions decreased, and many soldiers died of starvation, of cholera, sometimes fifty in a night. News, however, came that Selim Pasha had landed at Trebizond, and was advancing to their succour, and so our brave countrymen resolved not to yield. Still the relief did not come. Famine, disease, and death stalked round the camp. Human endurance could last no longer. The 25th of November arrived, and General Williams and his aide-de-camp, Teesdale, rode over, under a flag of truce, to the Russian camp, to propose a capitulation. They were well received by the humane Mouravieff. Terms most honourable to the brave garrison were speedily arranged; private property was to be respected; the troops were to march out with colours and music, and surrender themselves prisoners; “and write,” said the Russian General to his secretary, “that in admiration of the noble and devoted courage displayed by the army of Kars, the officers shall be allowed to retain their swords, as a mark of honour and respect.”
Thus was Kars defended chiefly by the wisdom, courage, and perseverance of a few Englishmen, gallantly supported by the Turkish troops; and thus it fell, not before the arms of Russia, but in consequence of the mismanagement, roguery, and pusillanimity of Turkish generals and officials. It would be difficult to point out to young soldiers an example more worthy of imitation than that set by the gallant officers who have been mentioned in these pages.
Story 13-Chapter I
STORY THIRTEEN – The Doomed Ship
“You see me now an old and careworn man, with my few scanty locks white as the driven snow; my eyes dim, my cheeks hollow, my shrunk and tottering limbs scarce able to support my bent and emaciated body; my blood languid, and flowing slowly round my heart; my voice weak and tremulous as a child’s; all my faculties deranged but memory, and that alone survives to tell me who I am. Memory, mysterious, inscrutable power, – gladly would I have escaped its painful influence! Alas! it cannot be. Thought alone, while every other faculty has departed, will pursue me to the grave.
“I was not always thus, young man. Ah! once my blood coursed freely through my veins as yours, my limbs were stout and strongly knit, my muscles were firmly strung, my figure was tall and graceful, and with my arm few dared to compete. No one ever cared a second time to tempt my anger; my eye was bright and piercing as an eagle’s, and my voice was clear and powerful, so that it might be heard amid the raging of the fiercest storm. My heart never beat with fear; aloft, no one was more active, or would so readily spring to the weather earing, when, in the strongest tempest, the last reef was to be taken in the topsails. Ah! young man, you look incredulous. I have stood securely on the main truck when landsmen could scarcely keep their feet on deck. I have hung by one hand suspended to a single rope, tossing to and fro in mid air. I have swum for miles on the foaming bosom of the ocean. I have contended with the wild beast of the desert. I have stood amid showers of bell and grape when my shipmates have been falling thickly around. I have with a few daring comrades fought hand to hand against overpowering numbers on an enemy’s deck. I have faced death in a hundred shapes, and I never trembled; yet now I bend even before the summer’s breeze. Worthless and miserable as I am, I have loved, truly and devotedly, ay, and have been loved too in return. The eye of beauty has sparkled, her lip has smiled sweetly on me, her heart has beat with tender emotions; when I drew near, those lips have uttered words of tenderest endearment for my ear alone. I have been young, strong, handsome, and bold; – I am now old and broken, loathsome and nerveless. Learn a moral, young man. To this all must come whose span of life is lengthened out like mine; then do the work to which you have been called while you have strength. Remember that this life, whether passed in sunshine and in calm, or amid cloud and storm, is like a voyage, speedily over, and that while it lasts every man on board is bound to do his duty, nor like a coward skulk idly below. Vain and bitter are the regrets of age, and if all men did but feel the importance of acting their parts faithfully towards their Maker and their fellow-men, what an amount of misery and anguish would be saved them in their latter days! how different would he the world they are sent to inhabit!
“But I asked you to sit down on this stone by my side, while we watch the shipping in the harbour below, and the deep blue sea sparkling in the rays of the setting sun, to listen to a tale of my younger days, and instead of that, I have been moralising, prating, you will say perhaps, of things which do not interest you. Well, well, follow my counsel; it is all I ask; and so to my tale.
“It is now more than half a century ago that I got the berth of second mate on board a fine ship belonging to the port of Liverpool. Liverpool was a very different town in those days from what it is now. There were no fine docks and spacious quays, no broad streets and magnificent buildings, but yet it was a place of much bustle and trade; and trade is the true mother of all the improvements. Our ship was called the Chameleon. She was bran new, and had never yet made a voyage; she measured four hundred and fifty tons burthen, was ship-rigged, and was well found and fitted in every respect. Her master was as thorough a sailor as ever stepped, and, take them all in all, I suppose a stouter ship, a better crew, or a more able master, never sailed from the port of Liverpool. But I have now more particularly to speak of the master. His name was Derick – Captain Ashby Derick. He was a young man, about seven or eight-and-twenty, I suppose, and was very well connected and educated. He was very good-looking – the women called him remarkably handsome – he was tall, with a firm, well-made figure and broad chest; his complexion was naturally fair, though now bronzed by the sun, with an abundance of light curly hair, and full whiskers; his eyes were large and grey; his lips firm, and his nose fine, though somewhat hooked, which prevented his face from having any approach to effeminacy. He had from boyhood been rather wild; indeed, his principles were none of the best, and it was for that reason that his father, who was a very strict man, had sent him to sea, that he might not set a bad example to his brothers. The world looked on him as a rollicking, careless blade, with more animal spirits than wisdom to guide him; but his employers knew him to be a first-rate seaman, and one liked by his crew, and that was all they had to inquire about. Now for my part, I believe that had he been well guided at first, and properly instructed in his duty to God and man, he would not have turned out a bad man; but he had not his fair play; he was cast like a waif on the waters, without rudder or compass, to find his way as he best could over the troubled sea of life, and how could those who sent him expect him to escape shipwreck? His fate has been the fate of many. He grew up with numerous fine manly qualities. He was brave and bold as man can be; he was generous to his friends, kind-hearted to any in distress, and full of life and animation, but his temper was hot and hasty. He had no religion, though he did not scoff at it in others; but he did not know what it meant; and he had no morality; indeed, no one could trust to his principles. With women he had very winning ways, and was a great favourite with them.
“After his return from his last voyage he went to stay with some friends living in Lancashire, not many miles from Liverpool. At the distance of a mile or two from the house where he was staying, there lived on the borders of a wild heath or common, in an almost ruined cottage, an old woman. The old woman’s name was Kirby – Mother Kirby she was called – and she was reported to be a witch by the common people, who told all sorts of stories about her. It is certain that she was of a sour bad temper, that she was very old and very ugly, and could use her tongue most fluently. But it is not about her I am going to speak at present. She had a granddaughter who lived in the hut with her, but was as unlike her in every respect as light from darkness. Amy Kirby was one of the most beautiful girls you ever saw – she was slight and graceful, with a well-rounded form, and tall rather than short; her hair was black as jet; her eyes large, dark, and lustrous; and her cheeks bore all the bloom of health and youth; her complexion was clear, but it just showed that there was a slight touch of gipsy blood in her veins; her step, as she walked along, was as elastic as a young fawn’s; and her voice was like the skylark’s as it mounts into the blue sky at early dawn.
“It was surprising to see how the old woman loved a being so unlike herself, how carefully she tended her, how well she had brought her up. She had taught her many things which girls in her rank of life never learn; she even got all sorts of books for her to read. Amy was always neatly dressed, and while the rest of the cottage was almost in ruins, her room was as good as any in a well-to-do house. No one knew how the old woman got the money for these purposes, but whenever any was wanted for Amy it was always forthcoming. One thing, alas! she had not taught her – that was religion; and neither the old woman nor her grandchild was ever seen to enter a church.
“Amy was about seventeen when Ashby Derick first saw her. He met her on the common near her grandmother’s cottage, and as he was a stranger there he stopped to ask his way, and from one question another was asked, and a few words led to many. His heart in a moment was struck by her beauty, and he felt that he had never seen any one he admired so much. She, too, was pleased with his look and fine manly bearing, but she would not tell him who she was, nor where she came from. She laughingly said that she was the spirit of the heath, that she dwelt in the air, and that her carriage was the storm, and that whenever he would seek her he must come there to find her. This excited his curiosity, and if she had told him that she lived in the ruined cottage hard by, from her dress and language he would not have believed her. Every day he visited the heath, and each time he found her there on the same spot, and hour after hour he spent with her, more and more captivated by her charms. What was extraordinary was, that he could never find out her name, nor anything about her, or he might perhaps have not gone so far as he did. The strangeness of the affair pleased him, for he was of a romantic turn, and I believe fancied her some well-born lady in disguise who had fallen in love with him. She must have been, from what I heard, full of life and wit, and of course showed out more to him than she had ever done to others. Indeed, her mind was of no ordinary character, and had it been well guided she would have been equal to any lady in the land. At last he offered her marriage. She laughed, and told him that he would be marrying a spirit, and that he must come to her home, for that she would never go to his. He had better think over it, for that no good could come of it. This only made him more vehement, and he vowed and swore that he would marry her and her alone. The belief is that she was of the gipsy religion as well as of the gipsy race, and gipsies look upon an oath as binding as any other form of marriage, and therefore after that she considered Ashby Derick as her husband. I cannot say if what she told him about her being the spirit of the heath had anything of truth in it, as some people believed, but her heart and soul were his, and she loved him with all the passionate ardour of a child of a race which comes from the lands of the burning sun of Egypt. The consequence was, that she went to reside with him at his house near Liverpool.
“Her grandmother had never come to see her, but at last the old woman could no longer resist the strong wish she had of visiting her. Derick came in and saw the witch-like creature sitting by the side of the beautiful girl he professed to love so much. He did not like the look of her, and in an angry tone he asked her what she did there.